Elemental
by Silvercobwebs
Summary: Faith's thoughts as she tortures Wesley...


Elemental 

Elemental

Kirsty ([SSKNicol@aol.com][1])

Improv: silver--wander--hollow--fitting

Rating: R. It ain't pretty. 

Disclaimer: It's not mine. Therefore, I disclaim. 

Author's notes: My first attempt at writing Faith - Just a warning for you. Set just before the torture scene with Wesley in 'Five by Five'. 

Written in about an hour before I got the chance to wimp out and never send it.

Feedback: Is adored.

Got my big hunk of British Watcher waiting for me over in the corner. Yeah - the unconscious one - didn't know he'd wuss out so easily. I really oughta speak to someone about the Council's lack of training. Can't let themselves get pounded to a bloody pulp by their own Slayer, now can they? Oh right - I'm not even that anymore, I'm 'wandering', 'gone astray'. I need help, right? Maybe I do. But I sure as hell know that's it's not coming from them.

And it's kinda funny as I haven't even started yet. Gotta get through my own little list before the impending confrontation. 

Hot, cold, sharp and blunt. Your basic elements of torture. 

Now what can I start with to kill the time before everyone's guardian Angel starts flapping his self-righteous wings?

Decisions, decisions. . .

****

Hot.

I'm pretty keen on that one. 

It usually involves a handily placed lighter or a boiling kettle. Pretty lucky that our little "arena's" a kitchen. I mean, who needs a dark dungeon when you've got everything at your fingertips here? 

Maybe I can boil the kettle, pour the contents on his crotch, just as a bit of fun of course, then make myself a cup of coffee. The caffeine gives me a real buzz. I need that. Especially as I'll be up all night. I'd better make it black. 

And then I can really start to get myself off.

A gas lighter and a can of hairspray. It's modest, I know, but I'm an old fashioned gal. I'll get him a little riled first, just show him what he's got to look forward to. What I can take away. I want to burn him from the inside out. 

I wonder if I can make the Boy Scout in his pants set up tent before his skin starts to blister? Nice. I've got myself my own little challenge now. Cum before castration. Screamin' new fashion, don't you think?

. . .And when you spray that gas out with the flame. . .Looks wicked cool. 

****

Cold.

I don't like that one as much. Hardly any originality. Ice cubes to cool his charred skin. . .maybe a couple shoved between his teeth? Nah. They'd just melt. I want to break a few teeth, get a proper result. No pain, no gain. I suppose if I put some knife in the fridge now it'll be ready to pry open his jaw, let him taste the cold silver. Slide it in, so gently. He'll have to keep still, the mouth open otherwise it'll make my job a lot harder. Slide right towards the back of the throat, I'll whisper his name, make him tremble, then twist.

Free tonsillectomy. Might stop his pathetic yammering for a while. Always talking about duty and what I should've been doing. I should be more like Buffy (What. Screw the undead?), I didn't do some training crap right, I should do everything he said. . .What the fuck happened to anything I was doing *right*? Just mentioning one damn thing that I was doing well? One word of praise was just too much to manage? Well screw that. Now I'm just as cold as you, Wes. 

****

Sharp.

It's a personal favourite. Even had my own knife for a while - a work of beauty, but like anything I ever wanted, B took it, twisted it, and then drove it home. Third and fourth ribs if I'm remembering right. 

Bitch.

Well now I've got a whole fucking room of them, and one unwilling victim. And you know what makes it even more fitting, Wes? It's not the fact that I might've saved your sorry ass with a little scrap of metal before, and am about to nearly end it with one now. What really takes the whole fucked-up cake is that after this, I'll be the one dead by it. And geez, Wes, you might even be the one to do the deed. Triple manly points, don't ya think? Course, you might have to fight Angel over the honour. Secretly, I'm hoping it'll be him. Then maybe it'll be enough to send him over the edge for a grand finale. Yeah - I'm definitely liking that game. 

But in the meantime, I'll get to practice my carving skills on Wes' chest. Always liked to draw. I think I'll start from the bottom and work my way up to the hollow of his throat. I'm not gonna slit it, just. . .caress it. Last chance for a loving embrace. Yeah - I'm just *full* of this poetry crap.

I think I'll save that for last. Assuming I get that far.

****

Blunt. 

I think I'll start with blunt. I knocked him out with my fist - That was the start, right? Might as well carry on with the theme. He's got to be used to being slapped around by now, living around Buffy and her fluffy little tribe of Hellmouth Defenders. Wouldn't want to disappoint my own masochistic lamb joyfully headed for the slaughter.

Some quality steel layin' around here. Lots of nice long points, just yelling "Use me!" Plenty of knives, forks and even better - a poker. Moron doesn't even have a fire, and that bit of rusty metal wouldn't get you very far against a psycho with a Colt. 

But why should I complain? More weapons for him equals more toys for me.

****

Bastard!

Caught my finger on a blade. Didn't hurt, but it caught me by surprise. A droplet of blood oozes out. Fuck - Wes - I wish you could see this! You know I don't usually do this kinda intro. You really should feel flattered, guy. A sneak preview of the next three hours. Longer if I can find some scissors. Shit. Now it's getting everywhere, and I it took a good ten minutes to find this jacket. And I had to punch the guy twice to steal it which used up my valuable time.

I'm trying to wipe it away, but the blood still wells. It won't stop bleeding. Almost reminds me of. . .

"Out damned spot!" 

Wasn't that Lady M's whole deal? Damned for eternity by the blood on her hands from having that guy killed? Well, whaddya know? - I got something in common with the big S. 

I get it, y'know? The blood never washes straight off, no matter how hard you scrub at it. Never comes out, so what do you do if you can't clean it off? Paint over it. And - hell, I've been trying to do that for a whole damn year and I'm still coming up with Jack. 

So this is where he comes in - Wes. Maybe if I get enough of his blood on my hands, it'll cover the others'. And I know he wants it. He wants to be punished for letting me turn to the Dark Side, or whatever the hell the White Hats call it. He needs to be cleansed. He wants atonement for what he's done. What he's let himself turn into. What he let me do. And so do I. Perfect balance. 

Not so different now, are we Wes?

Almost makes it a pity that you'll never get to hear this. But I don't need you to know it. I don't need to know what you're thinking as you're drifting into consciousness. I just *need*.

I need the blood, and the violence and the hate. And I also need to be forgiven, to be loved and be needed back. Because without that need I'm not sure what I'd find if I looked within myself.

A groan and a glance around, and I'm impressed. Wesley's awake and his pants are still clean. Maybe you've grown a pair after all?

I pat him on the head, ruffle his hair before kissing him on the cheek.

'Morning, lover. Sleep well?'

***

Fin

   [1]: mailto:SSKNicol@aol.com



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